


someone that loves you

by capebretons



Series: got me saying right now [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boarding School, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capebretons/pseuds/capebretons
Summary: Auston opens his mouth then, barely enough, but then closes it, shakes his head, careful and slow. There’s a little laugh, and a small smile, and another shake of his head. “Don’t even — it’s not. Stop. It’s nothing.”Which is just a more elaborate way of confirming every fear Mitch has ever had. Which is cool. (It’s not at all cool.)





	

Mitch Marner has just always been really, really good at flirting.

It comes easy to him, batting eyelashes and blowing kisses and winking across the room. It’s silly, really, and he’s always half-joking, but. This is different. This  _ means _ something.

Once Mitch realizes that yeah, he really fucking does like Auston, he thinks that he might not be good at flirting at all. Nope. Not his forte. This is not his, his, his… Area of expertise. Nope. He’s awkward and his voice cracks and one time he spit while laughing and it was so embarrassing he excused himself from class so he could cry in the bathroom. And really, this wouldn’t be so awful if Auston wasn’t so, so — cool. He just smiles, a small thing, and looks at Mitch like Mitch is really fucking entertaining, and he knows. He so knows. Mitch’s not great at being subtle, either.

Well, at least he’s not Dylan.

“Fuck me,” Dylan’s saying, probably not even realizing it’s out loud. He’s got his eyes fixed on Connor, because when doesn’t he, and it’s way too early for all of this. First period is not where Dylan should be his angstiest. Second period, maybe.

“Come on,” Mitch nudges him forward, towards his seat in the back row. Mitch sits a few seats up, because he has to at least  _ pretend _ like he cares about AP Econ. Dylan is unwilling to pretend, though, so he sits. Auston’s seat is empty again, because he… Is doing something else. Probably.

(Mitch cannot overanalyze that again. He’s already had his one weekly freak-out about the possibility that there is someone else in Auston’s tiny boarding-school-regulated twin bed. If he has another, Dylan’s allowed to give him a five-star, right in the middle of his back. Rules are rules.)

Besides. Auston isn’t usually in class. He really only started attending the school itself halfway through junior year, because he was doing some boarding school for foreign kids in Switzerland. Whatever. All Mitch knows is that he speaks fluent German, and he dresses really well when he’s not in the school-sanctioned blazer and tie getup. So, God is testing Mitch.

Econ goes by fast, or maybe it doesn’t. Mitch is asleep for half of it, because Connor’s been up all night finishing his Harvard essay and stress-crying, and Mitch can’t reasonably let his roommate cry alone, so he cried with him. Friends don’t let friends cry alone. Mitch is supportive like that.

Dylan’s talking to Crouser as the class is filling out, so Mitch taps Connor on the shoulder. His eyes are still kind of puffy, and he looks exhausted, but he offers Mitch a small smile. “What up, dude,” Connor says, and honest to God, Mitch wonders if Connor genuinely knows how young people talk.

“Nothin’,” Mitch sighs, resting his chin on his hands. “Just chatting with my best friend Connor McDavid.”

“Your best friend is Dylan,” Connor says matter-of-factly, putting his textbook in his backpack with the care usually reserved for someone handling a newborn baby. 

“He’s yours, too,” Mitch shrugs, and Connor does this weird flinch-wince, which is what he always does when Dylan’s brought up. “It’s fine. My feelings aren’t hurt.”

“How can you be best friends with someone,” Connor says quietly, “when they won’t even look at you?”

If life were easy, Mitch would leap onto his desk, on some real  _ Dead Poets  _ shit, and scream to Dylan,  _ CONNOR MISSES THE SHIT OUT OF YOU, _ and then scream to Connor,  _ STOP BEING A DICK AND APOLOGIZE,  _ but this is not a perfect world. Mitch isn’t going to meddle, because that doesn’t help anybody, and he’d be a shitty friend if he tried to apologize for Connor, or if he tried to mend things for Dylan. The shit between them, that’s between them. Mitch is just there to listen, really, and try and make sure they don’t put all of their shit on their own shoulders.

“Stop being emo,” is all he says to Connor. “It’s too damn early.”

Connor frowns. “It’s nine-thirty.”

Mitch makes a face. “ _ You’re _ nine-thirty.”

“That’s not — that doesn’t even—”

“You’re just  _ embodying _ nine-thirty to me. Embody another time.”

“What’s a good time to embody, then?”

“Eleven-eleven.”

“Mitchell, that’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassing.”

Mitch rolls his eyes, and somehow his eyes land on Auston’s empty desk, and Mitch just says, lamely, “Well, yeah.” 

  
  


Objectively, Mitch knows that Auston can’t be having sex every single time he doesn’t come to first period. He knows that. He’s not sure there’s enough people in their school for that, because he knows, through some convoluted conversation with Willie, that Auston doesn’t have somebody. Not like TK and Crouser have each other, not like Eichel and Hanifin pretend they don’t have each other. And Mitch doesn’t, either. (Once upon a time, he’d had a really weird crush on Stromer, but thank God that never really happened, because he’s seen Dylan’s bare ass enough to know he wants to be nowhere near it.)

So Auston doesn’t have someone, but maybe he doesn’t want someone. And Mitch wants someone. Mitch has always been the kind of kid that wants people, and Mitch wants Auston. And that’s not really anything new.

Mitch knows he falls fast. He doesn’t believe in anything like he believes in fate, in love-at-first-sight, at true love, at all of the stuff that people his age are supposed to think is bullshit. But Mitch knows better. He knows that you can see someone, and you can see their soul, and you can fall in love.

Mitch first saw Auston Matthews in his AP English III class, junior year, and he almost went into cardiac arrest. And not even because Auston’s, like, particularly gorgeous. Even though he is. But no, it wasn’t at all like Mitch had seen him and thought  _ wow,  _ but that Mitch had seen him, and he felt, just—

Calmed. Quieted. Like he’d just put his head under the water in his bathtub, and the world felt kind of gooey, slower and softer and running together until everything else feels like white noise. He looked at Auston and he thought  _ oh, this is how it’s supposed to be. _ And then Auston had smiled to him, shy, like he had anything to be nervous about, and Mitch coughed too loud and looked away, because it was all Too Much.

He doesn’t like to talk about it, though. It’s embarrassing, to be this embarrassing, and he can’t have Dylan or Davo knowing, especially considering everything they’ve got going on right now. He’s there to be leaned on. He doesn’t need to lean. He’s okay.

So he kind of, just. Watches Auston, when he knows Auston won’t be watching. Auston’s on the baseball team, evidently. He’d snooped through his Facebook enough to know that he’s good, too. And Auston’s smart, almost as smart as Connor. And he’s friends with all of the Americans, which is a bummer, but Mitch would really rather not think about Eichel and Hanifin in the same breath as Auston. And, well. The Americans hook up. With each other. Kind of a lot. So.

Mitch has kissed exactly one (1) person in his life, and that was Dylan, on a dare. Dylan tasted mostly like cheeseburger and wiped his mouth right after, so Mitch doesn’t really even tend to count that. But he gets crushes  _ all _ the time. It’s just — he finds nice things in everyone, is all. He likes the way Chychy’s smile softens his cheekbones, he likes how Crouser laughs when someone makes a dumb joke, he likes Tkachuk’s awful sense of humor. He likes Clague’s eyebrows, he likes Duber’s music taste, he likes the way Eichs looks at Hanny. 

Mitch really wants someone to look at him like that.

He knows he’s loveable. Dylan tells him he loves him all the time, and Connor, too, but only when Connor’s been crying. He knows that people think he’s special, knows that people want and like to be around him. But they don’t love him, not like that. The way Dylan and Connor love each other, it’s like their sharp edges get soft, and they fall together so easy. Mitch can’t really see them with anyone else. They chose each other, and that’s the end of everything. Mitch is so, so happy for them.

And he doesn’t want to, hates that he does — he just worries, sometimes, that no one’s gonna look at him at think  _ this is the person that I want, and this is my first choice, and that’s the end of everything. _ And he’s got a million of reasons not to be jealous of his two best friends, ranging from the shit that landed Dylan in the hospital and the shit that makes Connor cry at night, but he’s also got one big reason that he can be.

So it’s better, really, to keep his distance from Auston, to keep quiet about all of it to his friends. It’s just — it’s better like this.

  
  


Mitch tutors, sometimes. He’s been on the honor roll since sophomore year, and he doesn’t really see a point in having all that knowledge and not helping someone who needs help, so he meets with this one freshman, once a week, as he was assigned by the teacher. But this kid hasn’t shown up once, and Mitch honestly couldn’t point him out in a crowd. He goes, anyway, because it’s a designated time to get some work done, and, hey. The kid could show up some day.

And besides, Mitch kind of loves the library. He’s got his spot in the stacks, in the second row from the back, among the World War II biographies and the old maps. Nobody really ever comes back here, because there’s literally nothing anyone would ever need back here, so Mitch spreads all the contacts of his backpack out on the floor, plays music really softly, and studies. He’s only been interrupted twice this year, once by the librarian who was making sure there wasn’t anybody making out back there, and then once, by TK and Crouser, attempting to make out back there.

Today marks the third ever time, and it’s somehow worse than witnessing Travis Konecny hastily undoing Lawson Crouse’s belt.

“Oh, hi,” and Mitch didn’t think Auston’s voice would be so soft.

“Hey,” Mitch says, and he thinks it’s okay if he’s being this familiar, because they do have Econ together, and one time Auston bumped into Mitch in the dining hall and Mitch apologized, and then had to go back to his dorm to scream into his pillow.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” Auston says, and he’s got one hand around both some big-ass Stats textbook and a MacBook Pro, and Mitch will not Fixate. “Carry on.”

“You’re good,” Mitch blurts out, way too quick, and he really doesn’t want to blush, really thinks he’s blushing. “Um. You can stay, if you want.”

Auston frowns, which is understandable, because Mitch sounds like this is his first ever conversation with another human being. “I don’t wanna, like. Ruin whatever this is.”

“It’s just studying,” Mitch says, forcibly pacing his words. “I like company, though.”

Auston looks at him, searching, for just a moment too long. Mitch thinks he’ll go, but Auston nods, a little jerky, and sits down, leaning against the stacks opposite Mitch. He smiles, that same shy, small thing, and opens his textbook slowly. Mitch pretends to fuck with his Spotify, mostly just making sure he doesn’t have one of Dylan’s awful 90’s R&B songs queued up, but also kind of staring. This feels fake. This feels unreal. They’ve barely spoken to each other, really. Auston, sitting across from him, feels like something he hasn’t really earned yet.

“So is this your spot, then?” Auston says, voice still soft, but that’s maybe because they’re in a library, but also maybe not, and Mitch has never heard him talk this much, and he’s dying a little bit.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, trying to match Auston’s voice. “I’m supposed to be tutoring someone, but he’s, like, never showed up once, so I just do college stuff.”

Auston looks up from his book, and nods, knowing. “College stuff sucks.”

And it sounds so weird, coming from his mouth, because Mitch’s kind of always assumed that Auston would take some European-gap-year-adventure, or, like, marry someone much older and richer so he doesn’t have to worry about school, ever. 

But Mitch is kind of fucking dumb, sometimes. Of course. At this school, university spares no man. They’re all fighting for the same spots at the same Ivies, every father calling in every favor to get their son wearing that Harvard red, that Dartmouth green. That’s just how it goes, here. 

“Yeah,” Mitch says, lame and not enough, because he’d rather say  _ I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,  _ but that feels like it might be a little too much for this current situation. 

Silence falls again, but it doesn’t feel tight, not like it usually does to Mitch. Silence always equalled wrong, and silence always needed to be filled, and he still has to stop himself from rambling about nothing just to ramble, but it’s not — awful. It’s just. Quiet.

Mitch isn’t really sure how long they sit there. It’s warm and the only sounds are from his laptop or far away, and Mitch finishes an essay for McGill, and he’s looking up to ask if maybe Auston would be down to peer-edit, but Auston’s—

Auston’s already looking at him.

“Oh,” Mitch says, stuttering, like he’s the one who got caught.

“Sorry,” Auston’s maybe smiling or maybe he’s smirking, and either make Mitch feel like he’s being stupid, and so Mitch just slams his laptop shut, way harder than necessary, which startles both of them.

“I’m going to go,” Mitch says, and kind of just shoves everything in his backpack until all that’s left on the floor of the library are Auston’s legs, sprawled out, too close to Mitch’s. “Um. See you tomorrow. If you come to class.”

And it comes out, like, way too mean, and it doesn’t sound at all hopeful, but Auston laughs anyway. “I’ll be there,” he says quietly, and looks back down at his Stats textbook, and Mitch books it the fuck out of there before he can say anything too horrifying.

  
  


Auston is, in fact, in class the next morning. His eyes are half-open and there’s the lines of a pillow creased into his cheek, and he’s got both his hands around a to-go cup of coffee, and he looks like the best thing in this room. Mitch is definitely biased.

Dylan, oblivious, just kisses Mitch on the temple — only half-joking — and strolls, no,  _ saunters, _ to the back of the room, and offers Auston his fist. Auston grins, sleepy and soft, and bumps his knuckles against Dylan’s, and Mitch wonders, not for the first time, when those two became friends. He wasn’t invited, clearly. (But, really. Knowing Dylan, he probably did something stupid only half-by-accident, and Auston snorted, and friendship was made.)

Mitch sighs, only a little and only to himself, and sits down in the second row. Connor is resolutely  _ not _ looking at Dylan, which is so dumb that Mitch pretends to accidentally kick the back of his chair. It was absolutely on purpose. And judging by the fact that Connor doesn’t turn around, Connor knows.

Class drags on, because first period has never been his forte, and neither has Econ, really. Mitch works really fucking hard for this school, because coasting isn’t an option. Shit doesn’t really come naturally, not to Mitch. There’s a lot of hard work involved and Mitch cries less than he did when he was a freshman, but he still cries a lot. And with kids like Connor and Dylan and Auston and yeah, even fucking Eichel, you can’t slack off. It’s a wonder Auston can just — show up. And do really well. Do better than most people.

He’d probably resent him if he wasn’t in love with him.

And class is over maybe a second after he thinks that, or at least it’s gotta be, because suddenly Auston is, like,  _ looming _ over him, and Mitch squints up at him like he’s the sun.

“Hello,” Mitch says, and it sounds so formal that honestly, death is preferable.

“Hi,” Auston says, and his voice is a little creaky from disuse, and somehow that makes Mitch blush. “So. I’m kind of behind in this class.”

Mitch wants to roll his eyes, but he’s grinning, and he’s kind of freaked out that if he were to roll his eyes right now he’d look a little stupid. (Remember how Mitch used to think he was good at flirting?) “Yeah?” Is all he can say, and his voice doesn’t shake. He counts that one as a W.

“And I know you have your hands full with tutoring,” Auston says, and his voice is too dry for him to be completely serious, even without the little glint in his eyes. 

“So full,” Mitch nods. In front of him, Connor snorts as he packs up his backpack, and Mitch kicks his chair again.

“But I was wondering if you could help me out sometime,” and Mitch really likes how chill Auston is, he really does, but it’d also be cool if he could tell at all if this is Auston flirting or not. A lot of things would be cool about Auston Matthews.

“Absolutely,” Mitch says, pacing himself so he doesn’t blurt out  _ you look adorable when you’re sleepy _ instead. “When?”

Auston shrugs. “Same as last time?”

_ “Last time?”  _ Connor repeats incredulously, loud only enough for Mitch to hear, somehow still here. Mitch will kick his chair out of this room, he swears to God.

Mitch nods, and he’s really not sure why he’s blushing. Embarrassment, probably, because his best friend is an asshole and he knows he should be saying words right now, but nothing’s really coming out, and Christ, has he always been this goddamn awkward?

“Yep,” he finally manages out. “Same is good.” Which is really  _ barely _ English, but at least they’re words. 

Auston nods, once, and smiles a little, and heads out. He’s barely out the door before Connor turns around, gives him this burdened, pained look, and frowns deeper than normal. “The hell was that, man?” Connor asks, which sounds a little more like the words of an eighteen-year-old kid. “ _ Last time _ ?”

Mitch would honestly rather scoop his eyeballs out with a melon-baller than think about the last few seconds of that conversation, but for Connor, he will push on. “We studied together, yesterday. Not even a big deal.”

Connor makes a face that falls somewhere between mocking and shock. “Yeah, okay, Mitch Marner is so chill about Auston Matthews, not even a big deal,  _ okay, dude. _ ”

“I am chill,” Mitch protests, but it falls on weak ears, because before he even finishes the sentence, Connor is laughing.

  
  


“You have a bug on your face,” Dylan’s saying, squinting at Mitch. “Ew.”

Mitch flails for a good four seconds, swatting at his face, while Dylan watches in fascination. It’s another day of pre-season lacrosse, another day of Lawson forgetting his cleats, another day of laps around the field and conditioning. And he and Dylan are supposedly captains. (They haven’t had a vote yet, but really, now that Dvorak’s playing at Yale, they’re kind of shoo-ins). 

“How long was it on there?” Mitch says as Coach blows the whistle, signifying another ten laps around the track. At least if Dylan pukes again like he did last time, practice will be cancelled.

“A good two minutes,” Dylan sniffs airily, and starts jogging backwards. He’d read online somewhere that running backwards makes your butt look good, so he’s been doing that. It doesn’t look any cooler than it sounds. Also, Mitch is infinitely confused as to why Dylan wants to make his butt look good. Connor’s not a butt guy. (But really, he won’t tell Dylan that, because Connor only said he doesn’t care about butts when he was talking about how Dylan’s butt isn’t great, but he still really loves Dylan despite his weird butt, and — well, this has kind of gotten away from Mitch’s point. The point was: Dylan looks dumb.)

“Why wouldn’t you tell me, though?” Mitch says, half-heartedly kicking at Dylan’s thigh while he passes him. “Fake friend.”

“I’m the realest out there,” Dylan says, indignant, and it’s clear that Brinksy hears them from a few feet behind, because that’s Brinksy’s stupid giggle, and Dylan’s grinning while he flips him off. “Seriously. I’m so real that I told Auston Matthews you’re single.”

Mitch is aiming for Stromer’s head for the rest of practice. It’s decided.

“What the fuck,  _ why _ ?” Mitch is very close to screaming. It’s not quite that, but it’s verging on hysterical, and some of the sophomores on the team are staring.

Dylan makes a face, one eerily similar to the one Connor had made that morning in Econ. “ _ Because,  _ Mitchell,” he rolls his eyes. “If you ever want to do something about him, he’s gotta know you’re not banging anybody on the side.”

“Why do you talk the way that you do?” Tkachuk sighs as he jogs past them, not even bothering for an answer. “Nobody says  _ banging _ anymore.”

“I have said the word  _ bang  _ forty-six times since eight a.m., sir,” Dylan calls after him, then turns back to Mitch. Thankfully, he’s running forward now, and Mitch can now be seen in public with him again. “Don’t worry. I know you’re shy. I made it seem super casual.”

“Your  _ casual _ is the average man’s  _ nuclear weapon,  _ my friend.”

“Shit, you’re right. All I did was write it in the glitter that seems to float in a cloud around him. Have you noticed that, Marns? How Matthews just seems to  _ sparkle _ —”

“We’re not friends anymore, Stromer. You and I have run our course.”

“Our course is not even remotely run. We’ve been strolling, my guy.”

“You’re getting away from the point.”

“Well, Jesus H. McDavid, Mitch, I’m trying—”

Mitch laughs out loud at that, sudden and warm, because it’s been about four thousand years since Dylan’s felt good enough to make a joke about Connor, and something about that feels so familiar that things, things with the three of them, feel good again. 

Dylan grins at Mitch, and even though it’s not all there, it’s enough. He shakes his head just slightly, like he’s a little confused as to why Mitch is laughing at all, and presses on. “I’m  _ trying _ to tell you, but you’re just  _ so _ distracting.” He pauses, and Mitch almost rolls his eyes, because Dylan never stops talking unless it’s for dramatic effect. “Auston’s words, not mine.”

“Fuck off,” is Mitch’s knee-jerk response, but then he considers a little more, because Dylan would never fuck with him about something like this. “Really?”

“Yeah, dude,  _ really, _ ” Dylan rolls his eyes a little, but he’s grinning, because he’s not a bad friend at all. “I was asking him if he’d done the Stats review, and he was like,  _ no, man, I got a little distracted yesterday,  _ and then he looked at you for maybe four seconds, and then he remembered he was in a conversation with another human being, and then I slipped in that you’re not seeing anybody right now, and then he pretended to listen to me talk about the D+ I got on my religion essay.”

“You got a D+ on your religion essay?” Mitch wrinkles his nose. “Dude, what?”

Dylan kicks him in the shin, _hard._ Mitch stumbles, and Barzal runs into him, and it’s a whole thing, but Dylan never stops talking. “Not the point, Marner. If that had been the point, I would have told you that I got a 69 percent.”

Because they’re both teenagers with an awful sense of humor, they both stop for a second to giggle. But that’s when Dylan’s story kind of, well, catches up with him, and Mitch feels like he needs to lie down. Yeah, he knew Auston was looking at him in the library yesterday, but he didn’t know Auston was  _ looking  _ at him in the library yesterday.

But this is so fucking dumb already. “That doesn’t mean anything,” Mitch says, and he sounds even stupider than he feels. It’s so, so — stupid, getting his hopes up like that. Auston could have been distracted by anything. There could have been a bug on Mitch’s face. Seems like a common theme, here.

“Fuck you,” Dylan says, because that’s how he shows love. “He got out of bed for you.”

“He got out of bed for Econ,” Mitch corrects, aiming another kick to Dylan’s leg. He misses, and nails an undeserving freshman in the back. 

“No one gets out of bed for Econ, homeboy,” Dylan rolls his eyes. It’s a wonder they’re not stuck like that, honestly. 

“ _ You _ do,” Mitch sighs.

Dylan doesn’t even roll his eyes, because Mitch is just supposed to get it by now. “AP Economics is not the reason I get out of bed, Marner, I am  _ so _ sorry to be the one to tell you that.”

“No?” Mitch smirks. “Why do you get out of bed in the morning?”

Dylan grins. “So I can go hang out with my very best friend in the world, Noah Hanifin.”

Mitch laughs, and says, “Fuck you,” because that’s how he shows love, too.

  
  


Auston’s already in Mitch’s spot by the time Mitch makes it over to the library. Practice ran long, and Mitch took a really long shower purely because he was nervous, and then he couldn’t find his Raptors hoodie, and everything is a disaster.

When Auston blinks up at Mitch, who’s still breathing hard from sprinting to the library, Mitch reconsiders. Not everything is a disaster.

“Sorry,” Mitch says, panting a little. “Practice took forever.”

“Such a student athlete,” Auston says, faintly grinning, and it might be teasing and it might be flirting, but Mitch won’t hope for either.

“I’m a god on this campus, I know,” Mitch smirks, before really thinking about it, and then cringes. But Auston’s laughing, and it’s this heavy, slow chuckle that gives Mitch honest-to-God goosebumps, and he never wants this moment to end.

“You gonna sit?” Auston asks, and Mitch belatedly realizes he’s still standing. “Or is this a vertical activity?”

Mitch wants to do some very  _ horizontal _ activities with Auston Matthews, but that has absolutely nothing to do with anything, ever. “Yeah,” is all Mitch can say, and because he’s still kind of on a high from making Auston laugh, he’s bold enough to sit down next to him, their shoulders brushing under the grey fabric of their sweatshirts. 

He smells good. He’s chewing a type of gum that Mitch has definitely had before, faintly minty, but it’s under something stronger, dark and warm and Auston, and Mitch wants to close his eyes and bury his head in Auston’s chest and breathe deep.

This is not something he can do, right now. But everything is totally chill. Seriously.

“So what do you need to go over?” Mitch forces out, straightening up slightly.

Auston coughs a little, and sits up a bit straighter, too. “I kind of taught myself macroeconomics, because it’s not that hard—” Except yes, it is, and it made Mitch cry, trying to learn whatever the fuck  _ aggregation  _ is. “—But I’m kind of confused on micro. Microloans don’t make sense to me.”

“Okay, yeah,” Mitch nods. “It’s hard. So—” And then he’s pulling out his textbook and his notes and his four different highlighters, and Auston’s just kind of staring at him, with that same small smile playing on his mouth, and Mitch knows he’s blushing, knows he looks like a total dick for carrying around four different highlighters, but he never wants Auston to stop looking at him like that.

Mitch isn’t really sure how long they sit there, shoulders brushing and talking about microfinance, but whatever awkwardness that comes with talking with him slips away, and Mitch stops feeling like an idiot, and Auston’s asking questions, yeah, but he’s getting it, and Mitch has always liked helping people. So. This has been nice.

“Okay,” Auston’s saying, and he’s closing his notes, but he’s not looking like he’s about to get up, either. Small miracles.

“So,” Mitch shifts a little, trying not to, like, disturb this weirdgreatspecial thing happening. “Do you get it?”

“Yeah, man,” Auston nods, shoving his shit back into his backpack. “You’re a solid teacher.”

Mitch isn’t going to pretend like this isn’t the best day of his life. “Thanks, homie.”

Auston laughs at that, head tipped down to look at his lap. “So, um. I was talking to Dylan today.”

Mitch sighs. Fucking Dylan. “Yeah, he told me.”

Auston’s head shoots up, and he looks at Mitch, a little crazy-eyed. But Auston Matthews is the most subdued person Mitch has ever come into social contact with, so this has got to mean that there is something fundamentally wrong with what Mitch just said.

“What?” Auston’s voice is a higher than normal.

“What?” Mitch shoots back, because he’s really not sure what he’s supposed to say, and stalling is as good a plan as any.

“What did he tell you?” Auston’s voice is smooth, measured, like Mitch has never heard it, picking each word very carefully. 

Mitch shrugs jerkily, and he can feel the heat coming to his face. He’s going to really, really try to sound nonchalant about this, but he has never felt more chalant in his life. “I don’t know, man. I think he told you I’m single, or something dumb like that.”

You know, if God chose this moment to strike down Mitch, he probably wouldn’t be totally pissed.

Auston’s mouth falls closed for a minute, and Mitch would love and welcome death, but then Auston’s talking again, sounding soft and quiet and warm, “Yeah, something dumb like that.”

“I don’t know why he told you that,” Mitch blurts out, because he can never leave good enough alone. “Seriously. He’s so nosy, honestly, he’s always been that way—”

“I thought you guy were dating,” Auston says, and there’s something sheepish, almost, in the way he says it. “He looked like he was having a panic attack, just thinking about it.”

Mitch snorts out a laugh. “We’d probably kill each other before we kissed each other. Even though I was, like,  _ so  _ into him my freshman year.”

Auston sputters out something that’s almost a laugh, and Mitch loves him so much it’s unbelievable. “You were pining over Dylan Strome?”

Mitch makes a face, because hearing that right now is just  _ ew. _ “Maybe. Well — no. No. No. I didn’t even know what pining was, when I was fifteen. I was not aware of the heights of pining I could reach. I was too young. I couldn’t have even fathomed.”

“Mitch Marner, Professional Piner,” Auston says, thoughtful. “Huh. I never thought about it like that.”

Mitch grins at his lap. “No? How did you think about it?”

Auston shrugs. “I guess I just thought people pined after  _ you.  _ Didn’t really ever think it’d be the other way around, I guess.”

Mitch is just so confused. About life, yeah, but mostly about Auston Matthews. “I’m literally — what? What does that mean?”

Auston shrugs again, but he’s grinning this time. Grinning at Mitch. Which. You know. That’s not terrible. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think there’d be any reason for you to pine after somebody.” He frowns a little, then, and tilts his head very slightly, and Mitch wants to kiss him, but he’s not done talking. “Because how could someone not want you back?”

And it’s something like a shock to the system, cold water or something, because this isn’t — no. No. It doesn’t make sense, not at all, that someone like Auston would even look at Mitch. Because Auston — Auston has his shit together. Not just some of his shit, but all of it. He and Connor are leading their class, neck and neck for valedictorian, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that Auston lived in  _ Europe _ for a hot minute, and Mitch—

Mitch is from the suburbs, and he cries about three times a week, and his hair always sticks up kind of weird in the back. He’s got stupid friends, and his mouth is a little too big for his face, and he’s learning to accept the fact that maybe, he was never really all that good at flirting.

That —  _ this _ — just doesn’t make any sense. Auston’s just nice. He doesn’t like Mitch.

“Oh, buddy,” Mitch would laugh, if he wasn’t so close to crying. “You have no idea.”

  
  


And even after their weird conversation, things get better. Life in general, just. Kind of gets better. After Dylan’s totally-warranted freakout, Mitch had marched up to Connor and demanded he apologize, and. Yeah. Connor apologized. And his two best friends are talking again, and life feels not so shitty again. Because now, they’re talking. Now, Mitch doesn’t have to be in the middle anymore, pretending that this isn’t kind of killing him, too. 

And Connor’s  _ smiling _ again, and Dylan’s jokes don’t make Mitch sad anymore, and this weird bump in their long road, all three of them as best friends, is far behind them. It feels like the end of some after-school special, because Mitch knows this stupid  _ no really, Marns, we’re just friends, we’re just getting to know each other again, I promise _ schtick, coming from the both of them, is a farce. They’re gonna fall in love again. And maybe, this time, they’ll actually do something about it. Hopefully. Mitch isn’t really sure how much pining he can take.

Because, honestly? Since talking to Auston about it, he’s just. Realized it. He pines all the time. He pines when he turns around in Econ, ostensibly stretching but really just looking back at Auston, who’s usually doodling or yawning. He pines when he listens to Connor at night, when Connor talks in his sleep and just says Dylan’s name, and Mitch hopes he doesn’t say Auston’s. He pines every single time Auston even appears in his line of sight, even if that means he’s doing something gross, like talking to Eichel or laughing with Hanifin. 

And Mitch is really so stupid, because he keeps finding meaning in everything. If Auston catches him staring, and then he smiles, that stupid fucking dumb fucking gorgeous Auston Matthews almost-smile, Mitch will start to hope, and that burns, every single time. Because he — he just has to push that away, is all. He can’t hope for something like Auston. It’s only gonna hurt.

It already hurts.

And, you know. Maybe that’s why Mitch can’t stop.

  
  


“This is a stupid game,” Auston’s grinning, actually grinning, and trying to aim a little more for Mitch’s mouth, this time. Their Econ textbooks have long been abandoned in favor of trying to catch Skittles in their mouths, and Auston’s terrifically awful at it. He keeps hitting Mitch in the ear. 

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing,” Mitch grins, and gets another Skittle right in Auston’s mouth. Auston hasn’t missed a red or a green one, but the yellows always get him.

“Didn’t know you were keeping score, bud,” Auston says, chewing with his mouth open. Somehow, it is so different than when Dylan does it. Probably because Dylan is usually eating shit like Doritos Locos Tacos faster than most humans are physically able. 

“Life’s a competition,” Mitch says, popping a piece of candy into his own mouth. These days, there’s not so much studying, but it’s a lot of dumb shit like this, Mitch trying not to flirt because what even is that, anymore, and Auston doing everything that really  _ should _ be flirting, but Mitch will not get his hopes up. “Don’t you know that? Such a fucking rookie, Matthews.”

“You’re annoying,” Auston smiles. He doesn’t sound all that annoyed at all.

“I’m your best friend,” Mitch rolls his eyes, and misses Auston’s mouth again.

“Probably,” Auston shrugs. “I mean, I know you have Connor and Dylan, but yeah. You’re probably mine.”

“Ew,” something in Mitch makes him say, and Mitch is going to walk away, now.

Auston laughs, because something in him is charitable enough to laugh at shit like that. “Ew. Yeah. That sounded needier than I meant it to.”

Mitch rolls his eyes, kicking half-heartedly at Auston’s leg, splayed out in front of him. Their knees brush, when they sit like this. It’s a whole lot nicer than Mitch ever thought it could be. “You’re my best friend, too,” he says, and isn’t surprised when he means it.

“You have a lot of best friends,” Auston’s grin is slow.

“You get jealous too easily,” Mitch counters.

Auston sputters out another laugh, and shrugs, like,  _ well, yeah.  _ Mitch is going to go lie down after this. “You make it easy.”

Mitch laughs, too loud for the library. He is made of questions right now. “Fucking —  _ how _ ?”

Auston makes a face, slight on his face for less than a second, but Mitch doesn’t miss it. “Oh my God. Seriously?”

Mitch grins, and feels like he’s falling, or he’s missing something, or this is not where he’s supposed to be right now. (This is exactly where he’s supposed to be right now.) “Yeah, seriously.”

Auston opens his mouth then, barely enough, but then closes it, shakes his head, careful and slow. There’s a little laugh, and a small smile, and another shake of his head. “Don’t even — it’s not. Stop. It’s nothing.”

Which is just a more elaborate way of confirming every fear Mitch has ever had. Which is cool. 

(It’s not at all cool.)

  
  


It’s not exactly Mitch’s proudest moment, when he comes back to his empty dorm and just starts absolutely fucking sobbing. 

He just didn’t think loving somebody would hurt like this.

  
  


Mitch isn’t really sure when he starts doing it. It’s probably when they have their next test, and Auston doesn’t even look the smallest bit nervous about it. And  _ that’s _ probably because he’s been coming to class more and more, and he and Mitch have been going over notes almost every night since October, and they’re halfway through November. Mitch is seeing more of Auston than Dylan, these days, but that’s probably because Dylan’s seeing more of Connor than anybody else. And there’s a very large part of Mitch that is very okay with that.

Anyways. Mitch is sitting on Auston’s desk, a lot. That’s what he meant to say.

It’s always in the few spare moments before the bell rings, before Mitch has to tear himself away from the magnetic field that is Auston Matthews and head back to the second row, where the only other people he can surround himself with are Not Auston, and he likes it so much better in the back row, with Auston’s lap so near, and Auston smelling like  _ that _ , so close, close enough—

These are not thoughts for first period Econ. 

And honestly, Mitch can’t think of the last time he thought about the fucking economy in this class. He turns around to look at Auston too much. Auston’s always looking back, with that slight, almost teasing smile. Mitch blushes every time, even though he’s gotten a lot better at holding a conversation with him.

Doesn’t mean Dylan gets any nicer about it, though. One morning, he and Connor walk in together, and Mitch is sitting on Auston’s desk purely out of necessity. It’s necessary that Auston hears about Mitch’s fucked-up dream he had last night, Mitch promises it is, because it’s about deep-sea aliens, and that’s  _ so fucked up, right?  _

“You are so fucking obvious,” Dylan murmurs, only to Mitch, as he passes him on the way to his own seat, next to Auston. Mitch knows he’s blushing again, and Mitch also knows that Auston’s seen everything — Dylan’s head ducked to whisper something, then Mitch having an unwarranted biological reaction, and Mitch knows what it looks like.

And he remembers Auston — stupid, dumb, beautiful Auston — thinking that there was something going on between him and Dylan, knowing that once, Mitch had a stupid crush. Mitch honestly couldn’t tell you why he decides to brush a strand of hair behind Auston’s ear in the stupidest cover-up in the world, but he’s doing it.

Auston’s hair is surprisingly soft. So is his smile, when Mitch’s fingers linger on the shell of his ear. “Thanks,” he says, voice equally gentle, like no one’s ever done him such a kindness as Mitch Marner just has. 

But this is Auston. People  _ have _ to treat him like this all the time.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and this is the part where he knows he should say something, something to save his own ass, but nothing comes out.

And then the bell rings, and Mitch slides off the desk, reluctantly. But there’s Auston’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him back to his feet, and everything feels like it’s floating around them, but Mitch is anchored. It’s that same feeling from first seeing Auston — head underwater, gooey and warm.

“See you, after,” Auston says, and Mitch imagines the hopeful in his voice.

“Yeah,” Mitch says again, and goes to his own desk.

He doesn’t think about the economy today, either.

  
  


“You should just tell him,” Connor says, maybe four seconds after the bell rings. Mitch hasn’t even packed up his shit. Connor must have been waiting for this moment.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mitch lies, but of course he fucking does. Connor’s been giving him all these meaningful looks across their dorm, because now that he’s got Dylan again, he can put all of his Mom Friend Energy on Mitch. Mitch doesn’t love it. Honestly, he’d rather pretend he doesn’t feel anything at all for Auston Matthews. And then — he doesn’t know. He can graduate, and move on, and pretend he’s forgotten about this unforgettable person.

Connor fixes him with another look, somehow more annoyed. “You’re just wasting your own time. Do you want to be pining after him forever?  _ Tell _ him.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Sounds familiar, bud. Look, Stromer’s packing up, I don’t think you want to miss—”

“Don’t be mean,” is all Connor says, with a quiet voice and his eyes fixed on his lap, and Mitch feels shitty.

“Hey, Connor—” He tries.

“No, it’s fine,” Connor nods once, jerkily, and looks back at Mitch. “Just — fucking do something. You never do anything. He likes you, dude. He really likes you. I have no idea why that’s so impossible to believe.”

It seems really fucking bizarre that no one’s, like, just in the same total  _ awe _ of Auston Matthews as Mitch is. That’s what’s fucking impossible, Connor. “He’s Auston, though.”

“Who gives a shit if he’s Auston?” Connor rolls his eyes, and starts getting up. “You’re Mitch. That’s always been more important.”

“What the fuck does that even fucking mean?” Mitch gets up, too.

Connor sighs, long-suffering, annoyed. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Are we fighting right now?” Mitch asks.

Connor gives him another look, considering. “Yeah, but I love you.”

Mitch blinks. “Okay. I love you, too.”

Connor smiles at that, small, like he doesn’t want to. “Okay. I have a meeting to go to, but we’re still talking about this later.”

Mitch makes a face. “Okay, McMom.” He stops, thinking. “Wait. Symphony’s not until after class—”

And that’s when Connor goes bright red, glancing over Mitch’s shoulder, like he’s afraid someone’s going to hear him. “Um. It’s actually Knitting Club?”

Mitch drops every damn thing he was holding.  _ “McDavid.” _

  
  


Mitch is on the Columbia website when Auston shows up. He’s really doing the boring shit, trying to check out the Facebook group, seeing which residence halls are best, and genuinely trying to figure out which fucking way his life is going at the current moment.

“You look scared,” is the first thing Auston says, and his eyebrows are drawn together.

“Well,” Mitch says, because it’s not a yes or a no. 

“Why are you scared?” Auston says, dropping his bookbag and sitting next to Mitch in one easy, graceful movement. Mitch thinks Auston would have made a baller ballerina, in another life. 

“College is ass,” Mitch says, and his voice comes out a lot thinner than he’d like. 

“Yup,” Auston says, leaning over Mitch’s shoulder to see what he’s doing. “Oh. I was doing this last night.”

Mitch blinks, because  _ what.  _ “You’re going to Columbia?”

Auston shrugs, still looking at the computer screen. “No idea. Got in, though. Didn’t you?”

Mitch doesn’t really remember telling Auston that, but he’s also kind of constantly blacking out whenever Auston so much as smiles, so. You really never know, these days. “Yeah. I’m not sure if I want to, like, live in the States for the rest of my life, though.”

“Oh,” is all Auston says, and draws back. Mitch feels like he might’ve said something wrong.

“I only applied to two Canadian schools, though,” he says, too quickly. “And I don’t even know. Shit’s hard.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Auston says, settling against the stacks. “You can do anything.”

“Probably not, though,” Mitch sighs. “It’s just really exhausting, you know? I’m tired all the time, and Connor and Dylan are pissing me off, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to, to, to college, to fucking life in general—”

And Mitch isn’t totally sure, really, when Auston got so close, but he’s here, he’s so near that it hurts, and his hand is on Mitch’s jaw, and he has to feel Mitch’s pulse, he has to know how this hurts, how it feels so good to be so close, and everything is just—

“You smell amazing,” Mitch says, because his mouth isn’t connected to his brain anymore, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t fucking care when Auston is holding him like this.

Auston grins, crooked, and his eyes are so dark. “Yeah?”

Mitch nods, slow and slight, so Auston’s hand won’t move.

“You can do anything,” Auston says again, slow and deliberate, and Mitch’s heart has to be beating so fast, and Auston has to know.

Auston has to know.

Mitch barely has to lean in, they’re so close.

Auston’s mouth is warm and soft against Mitch’s, and Mitch isn’t going to lie, because he melts into Auston. Auston’s kissing him back, and there’s his tongue, and there’s a thousand little fireworks in Mitch’s chest, because this is everything in the world, to be kissing Auston. And Auston’s smiling, Mitch can feel it against his lips, so Mitch smiles too. He’s allowed to.

And, and, it’s  _ Auston _ who kisses him deeper, who threads his other hand in Mitch’s hair and pulls him closer. Mitch makes a small noise that he’s extremely unproud of, and Auston breathes out a faint little laugh before he presses a kiss to Mitch’s jaw, and Mitch isn’t sure how he’s not transcending right now. He feels like he should be.

_ I’m in love with you, _ he wants to be saying.  _ I love you so much it hurts. _

Auston’s sucking a hickey into his neck and there’s a part of Mitch that feels so honored that Auston’s marking him up like that, like he’s  _ proud _ of Mitch, like Mitch is something that he wants, something that he needs.

And then Mitch is being pulled into Auston’s lap, like Mitch is tiny enough to be pulled, and he loves it, he loves it so much, he loves everything about being handled like this, like he’s strong enough to want it, like he’s fragile enough to fit into Auston. He can feel Auston underneath him, solid and real. He’s not sure anything he’s thinking is at all sensical, but neither is this. Neither is this.

“Auston,” he doesn’t mean to breathe out, doesn’t even want to, but Auston sighs a little against his neck, content, and he’s hoping this isn’t a dream, because honestly, it fucking would be, with Mitch’s luck. 

Mitch also doesn’t mean to put his hands in Auston’s hair, feeling that same dark softness he felt in Econ that morning, but he’s so happy he did. Auston makes another noise, a little deeper in his throat this time, when Mitch pulls, testing. Mitch pulls again, and this time, Auston follows, and his mouth finds Mitch’s again, and there’s Auston’s tongue, and this is every single color in the rainbow, this is the sun after the storm, this is New Year’s Eve, this is—

A book falls from off the stacks, and they jump apart. Mitch is breathing hard, and he know he’s got to be bright red, and Auston’s still staring at him, and he’s doing that same fucking grin, the one that kills Mitch, every time.

“Solid study session today,” Auston says, and his voice is a little hoarse, and he’s still grinning.

_ I love you, _ Mitch doesn’t say.

“One of our best,” Mitch nods, and he can’t fight his own grin.

“Have I told you that you’re a good teacher?” Auston’s grinning wider now, and Mitch needs to take a long, cold shower.

“I think you’ve mentioned it,” he can’t stop grinning.

Auston’s just smiling now, and they’re both too stupid for words, and this is probably where Mitch can be laid to rest. 

It would be easy, to open his mouth and be stupid, to tell Auston that he likes him, that he loves him. But there’s just — what if Auston doesn’t? What if this is Auston kissing just to kiss, and it’s not Mitch at all, but it’s just  _ someone, _ and that’s all that’s important. They’re  _ friends. _ Auston’s made that clear. And this — friends kiss, sometimes. Dylan and Mitch have kissed. They have. Friends kiss. Auston wants to be his friend. That’s. Yup. That’s all this is.

“I should go,” Mitch says, because God, is he really going to fucking cry about this? (Yes. The answer is always yes, when asked if Mitch is really going to fucking cry about this.)

Auston’s grin slips, and his mouth opens and closes for a little bit, before he says, with his voice a little quieter, “Really?”

Mitch nods, too fast, and starts shoving all his shit into his backpack as fast as he can, because he will not kiss Auston and cry in front of him on the same day. “Yeah. I have a lot of shit to do, and Connor’s probably freaking out about something, and we kind of got in a fight today, so I should just. Yeah. Go.”

Auston nods once, slow. “Okay. Good luck with all of that.”

“Thanks, man,” Mitch nods again, because evidently, he’s a nodder now. And he nods again, instead of saying goodbye, and he sprints out of the library.

  
  


Connor spends maybe forty-five minutes getting Mitch down from a panic attack. Connor’s stupid good at doing that. He doesn’t make Mitch talk, and he just puts his hand on Mitch’s knee, rubbing a careful thumb in circles, until Mitch catches his breath. 

Mitch tells him everything. He tells him every single thought that’s in his head, every single thing he’s been unable to say before, every single thing that he’s never wanted to burden his two best friends with. It pours out of him, and he’s not sure how to stop it, but it feels so good to talk like this. He tells Connor he loves Auston, he tells Connor he knows Auston doesn’t love him, because he’s Mitch. He’s not anybody’s first choice, and he’s not the one that anybody loves like that, he’s not the one people come home to. 

He tells Connor that he knows people love him, but he wants to be loved first.

“Oh, man,” Connor says quietly, once Mitch is done crying, once Mitch is finished talking. “I had no idea you felt like this.”

Mitch hangs his head. “I couldn’t tell you. Not with everything going on with Dylan, with college. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” Connor repeats, almost laughing. “Mitch, you were never a fucking burden. You’re my best friend. I love you, man. You can tell me anything. You don’t have to be afraid you’re going to stress me out, dude. I’m here for you. I want to help you. I wish I — I wish I’d known. I didn’t know you were going through all of this, Mitch, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay,” Mitch says, voice too hoarse. “Really.”

“Stop that,” Connor says, firm, and pulls Mitch into a hug. And Mitch just kind of, well, goes limp, lets Connor hold him, and starts crying again. “You don’t have to be.”

“Okay,” Mitch says, muffled into the fabric of Connor’s sweatshirt. “Okay.”

  
  


Mitch, out of habit, goes to the library again the next day. Auston doesn’t show up. Not this time, or the next time, or the time after that.

He knew it would happen. He knew he’d fuck it up. Or maybe, you know, he didn’t. Maybe Auston found someone else to kiss, in places other than the back of the library. And maybe that someone is a better kisser, and cooler, and speaks German, and isn’t having mental breakdowns after they make out. Maybe it’s an American. Maybe it’s a Swede. Maybe it’s someone so much fucking better that Mitch Marner that it doesn’t even matter. 

Mitch starts studying in his dorm, instead, because the library’s too quiet now.

  
  


The hickey fades too fast, and it’s been weeks since he’s talked to Auston.

  
  


Auston doesn’t go to Econ, either. His desk is empty often enough that Lawson just sits closer to Dylan, and they’re talking in class enough that Lawson gets moved back. Connor smirks at that, and Mitch knows Dylan’s going to get a lot of shit from Connor about it, but it’s fine. Dylan’s good at taking shit from Connor.

The three of them are pretty much glued at the hip, now. It’s the same old schtick as junior year, when Dylan wants to do some stupid shit, and Connor actively discourages said stupid shit, and Mitch backs up either one of them, but Dylan ends up doing stupid shit anyway. It feels good, like this. It keeps his mind busy.

And he’s trying to be a little more proactive about all this college shit, too. He calls his dad, who tells him that it doesn’t really matter where he goes, it matters who he knows, which is such a Dad thing to say that it actually makes Mitch laugh. He calls his mom, after, who just tells him that she’s so proud of him. Mitch thinks his mom and Connor might be the same person.

The three of them go to a soccer game, because one of their friends from Knitting Club is on varsity, and they talk for a long time with some junior kid who’s wearing a scarf he’s still knitting. It’s a Knitting Club in-joke, apparently, and Mitch isn’t too sorry he’s missing out. 

“Seriously, Mikey,” Dylan’s got his best shit-eating grin on, and Connor’s watching him with his best I-love-Dylan-Strome grin. “When is that thing gonna be done? I’m kind of over this. I feel like your talents are being wasted. And I told my mom she’s getting mittens for Christmas, but I don’t know how to knit a mitten, so I am willing to pay you—”

“If I stop now, Nate’s gonna break up with me,” Mikey explains with a grin, still knitting with his eyes on the field. Nate appears to be on the bench, because apparently that’s where he lives, but he is  _ aggressively _ shit talking someone on the opposite team. Or wait, no. He’s _ aggressively  _ shit talking someone on his own team. Soccer is weird.

“No, he won’t,” Dylan laughs. “Nate’s gonna marry you. Or, at least, he’s the one proposing. He told me about it.”

Mikey laughs, light. “Oh, did he?”

“Yeah. He knitted you a ring.”

“Nate doesn’t know how to knit.”

“Then why the  _ fuck _ does he come to Knitting Club—”

“Oh, hey, Mitch,” Connor says, low and strong, eyes somewhere over Mitch’s shoulder. “Auston’s here.”

By now, Dylan knows, too, about everything that’s happened, and he, in the least subtle way possible, whips around to stare at Auston. And now the three of them are just. Openly staring. Because they’re  _ so _ cool.

And yeah, he is there, standing with some of the Americans, Hanny and Tkachuk, ostensibly watching Eichs play. (But really, everyone knows that the Americans — and, to be fair, some of the Canadians — just drink in the stands at every single sporting event, passing around a flask with  _ USA  _ embossed on the side. It’s patriotic but also a little stupid.)

Brinksy catches them staring, waves a little. Connor waves back, and he looks like he’s trying to smile, but it’s really a grimace, and Mitch wonders how life got to be this goddamn awful. “God, Connor, who died?” Dylan murmurs, elbowing Connor in the ribs, and strides to the Americans.

“Honestly,” Connor sighs after him, like he wants to be saying something completely different.

“I know,” Mitch nods, understanding, and they both stand for a minute, watching as Dylan wades into a crowd of Americans, all looking at him with thinly-veiled disgust. It’s purely a national thing. Brinksy and Tkachuk love Stromer. And, from what Mitch has heard, Hanny’s getting there.

Mitch is the opposite of getting there when Dylan turns around and waves like he wants them to come over and chat. Connor makes this weird groany noise, because he’s always making weird fucking noises, and Mitch seconds that.

When they get over there, Auston is texting. Or something. He’s looking at his phone, bored, scrolling. Mitch hopes it’s not Tinder. Mitch wonders if Auston’s even on Tinder. Is he a Tinderer? Has he been Tinded?

“Sup, El Capitan,” Tkachuk says, only slurring a little bit, and gives Mitch a fist bump. “Any thoughts on cancelling practice tomorrow?”

“Why?” Mitch grins. “Gonna be a little hungover there, my friend?”

“Hell no, dude,” Matthew shakes his head too slow, and wobbles a little bit. “My body is a temple. I haven’t had one drop of alcohol in my life. I’m all about that clean living. This flask is actually full of green juice. Hella kale in this bitch.”

“You are straight-up drinking wine right now,” Hanny says flatly, eyes on Eichel. 

Mitch laughs, and he sees Auston look up from his phone. And he’s not sure what makes him do it, but he just his chin out in recognition, and says, “Hey, man.”

He’s got to look so stupid, and all the Americans have to know. 

Auston just nods coolly. “Hey.” And then he looks down at his phone.

“Okay,” Mitch almost yells, because regulation of volume is hard when you think you’re about to die, and turns to Connor. “I’m gonna go home.”

Connor blinks at him like he’s missing something. “Okay.”

Mitch nods, once, like he’s got his life together or something, and shoves his hands in his pockets, because it’s December and it’s really fucking cold in Pennsylvania, not because his hands are shaking. The Americans on his team all kind of wave goodbye, and Dylan shoots him a look like  _ fuck you, dude,  _ and Mitch heads back to his dorm alone. 

He shrugs off his coat, sits down on his bed. Maybe he should get some sleep. Maybe he should take a shot of the bottle of Fireball Connor’s had hidden in a shoebox since September. Maybe he should spend another forty-five minutes obsessing over the fact that Auston Matthews doesn’t even want to look at him anymore.

And then there’s a knock.

And Connor never knocks, because he’s never once forgotten his key, so it’s probably Stromer, but Mitch really isn’t in the mood to talk right now.

He’s saying, “Hey, Dylan, not right now, man, I’m kind of—” as he’s opening the door, and it is Not Dylan.

“Oh,” is all Mitch says, because that’s Not Dylan.

“Can I talk to you?” Auston says, and his voice is still soft like it always is, but there’s something harder underneath. Mitch has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“Yeah, man,” Mitch nods, stepping aside so he can come in. And then Auston’s in his bedroom, standing in the middle of the floor, looking around at all of Mitch’s things, and he is the best thing in here.

_ I love you so much it hurts. _

Auston looks at him for just a second, then winces, looking down at the floor. “I was just talking to Connor McDavid.”

“Connor,” Mitch repeats, because this whole situation is so bamboozling.

“Yeah,” Auston says, still not looking at him. “He told me I should come talk to you.”

Mitch exhales deep. “Of course he did.”

And finally, Auston looks up, and looks at Mitch like there’s so much of something else in this room. “If this wasn’t obvious before, I’m really fucking in love with you.”

_ Oh. _

“What?” Mitch says, and it comes out much quieter, much more broken, than he’d like it to.

Auston’s mouth falls open, and he looks around the room, like he’s trying to find someone else in here to back him up. “Are you serious right now?”

And now it’s Mitch’s turn to shrug, helpless, and nod, because yeah, he’s pretty serious.

“The amount of times I almost told you,” Auston’s almost laughing, running a hand through his own hair and tugging. “Jesus. Every time in the library that you’d even  _ look _ at me, I felt like I was going to explode, because I wanted to tell you, I didn’t want to scare you, and I didn’t even know if I had a shot, because you’re  _ you,  _ you’re the most beautiful person in the room, in  _ any _ room, and I—”

“What?” Mitch says, dumbstruck, and his heart is breaking, because this can’t be real, this has to be a dream, this is even better than tasting Auston’s mouth, this is everything in the world.

“I love you,” Auston says, helpless. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Mitch repeats, and there’s all the weight of every word he wants to say to him, and none of them feel quite right, so he just, just. He opens his mouth and he  _ talks. _ “You make me so nervous. I didn’t —  _ fuck _ — I never thought that, that, I could. I never thought I could want you, because you’re so much more than I am, and I’m sorry that I’m like this, and I’m really fucking sorry I ran away after I kissed you, because I’ve never been kissed like that in my  _ life,  _ and honestly, that was borderline spiritual.” He pauses to breathe, and he can’t look at Auston right now, because he doesn’t want to cry. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m underwater, and I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

And then he looks at Auston, and Auston’s already looking at him.

And it’s Auston who closes the space between them, in three short steps, because Auston is a friendly giant, and he loves Mitch Marner. Auston kisses him like he wants him to know that. 

It doesn’t really even matter, now, that Mitch is someone’s first choice. It’s only ever mattered that he’s Auston’s. He’s  _ Auston’s _ first choice.

“I really love you,” Auston says, and Mitch can feel him smiling, and everything feels whole. “I love you so much. I don’t want you to be scared anymore.”

“I’m not,” Mitch says, and for the first time, he means it. “I’m not, Auston, I’m not scared. I love you.”

Auston laughs a little, and so does Mitch, because objectively, they look stupid. They’re clinging to each other in the middle of a fluorescent-lit dorm room, kissing like they’re about to go off to war, and Mitch is halfway to crying. His heart is so full.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Mitch says, pressing his head into Auston’s chest. 

“I would have waited,” Auston says, voice soft, and he runs his hand through Mitch’s hair. “I love you, man. I would have waited forever.”

“And I’m sorry I ran away,” Mitch says. “But I won’t do it again.”

“I believe you,” Auston laughs a little at that. “I’m gonna give you another hickey now, because that last one was not my best work.”

  
  


Auston’s waiting in the library when Mitch gets there, Econ book propped open in front of him. “Hey,” he says, dropping his shit and settling into Auston’s lap. Auston welcomes him easily, letting Mitch lean against his chest and then wrapping one arm around his waist. 

“How was practice?” Auston asks, lips pressed against the back of Mitch’s neck.

“Cold,” Mitch sighs, curling in closer. “And Dylan told me he’d bring me my Raptors sweatshirt, but he fucking  _ forgot, _ so I was freezing my ass off the entire practice.”

“Better bring your sweatshirt to New York, then,” he’s smirking. Mitch doesn’t even have to turn around to know.

“I feel like the appropriate thing to do would be to wear my Columbia sweatshirt,” Mitch says, turning around to face his boyfriend. “Because. You know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Auston grins. He’s wearing his own Columbia sweatshirt today. Or wait, no. Maybe that’s Mitch’s. Yeah, it’s Mitch’s, because it’s a little short on the sleeves, and there’s that little stain on the hem from a pizza roll he stole from Dylan’s weird Knitting Club thing.

“That’s my sweatshirt,” Mitch beams, and he wonders if everyone knows how into Auston he is. He doesn’t really care.

“Yep,” Auston grins back, and leans up to kiss Mitch’s cheek. “Looks better on you, though.”

Mitch snorts. “Doubtful.”

Auston rolls his eyes. “Stop it.”

Mitch smiles, shaking his head, and settles back into Auston’s lap, breathing deep because the kid still smells amazing. “Love you.”

Auston kisses the top of Mitch’s head, and says it back.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh!!! boarding school part two!! thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me along the way, it means more than you know :)
> 
> (title is from the honne song "someone that loves you," because i'm way less original than i think i am)


End file.
